


Reoccuring

by Megane



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Dreams, Hallucinations, M/M, Mind Games, Reunions, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Megane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven years since I've last seen him, and it was very peaceful. But now...</p><p> Written from Cloud's POV; written at too-early-in-the-morning, so I'm sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reoccuring

It had been… seven years since I last heard his name.

_Sephiroth._

He had crawled into my brain and infested my life, reaching to all possible ends and corrupting them. I had no haven. Even when the world was saved, I wasn’t. He was like a memory I could never shake. It’s better to say, he was like a shadow…

An evil, cold, remorseless shadow.

And instead of being behind me, I was always walking into him, and I was wrapped in his shadowy embrace, and all warmth fled from my body. His laughter would shake me from my slumber, but after a while, it stopped. Until today, until _tonight_. My seven-year streak is finally over, and Sephiroth is here in my room, in my heart, in my head.

 

 _Again_.

 

It’s nighttime, and my old bed seems so comforting. Tifa and Denzel are knocked out. Marlene is with Barrett again, and I… I couldn’t sleep. I keep waking up in a cold sweat, and every time I look at the clock, it keeps saying some version of 3—3AM, 3:15, 3:40. I’m never getting to sleep. I keep feeling like there are ghosts in my head, as strange as it sounds. Twisting, twirling, howling and moaning—they’re… noisy little voices, and I don’t understand where they came from.

I sigh. I’m getting tired of this sleeplessness, but I’m too tired to stay awake too. “I hate this,” I mutter to myself before throwing my arm over my eyes. I don’t know exactly what it is I ‘hate’, but it’s there. It’s out in the air. And that statement is an invitation to a haunting response.

The laughter rolls through my mind like a spell, and my eyes dart open as I pull my arm away.

            _Can’t believe you’re not sleeping, Cloud_ , came that taunting, smiling voice.

            “You don’t sound too surprise,” I mumble, pulling myself up into a sitting position.

I hunch forward slightly and squint blearily towards the corner of my room. I… I swear I can see him, smiling. His lips curve up in that cattish way of his; I look down at my hands, half curled on the blanket between my legs. There’s movement.

            _Thinking of_ me _again?_

            “Not if I can help it.” But I can’t—and I don’t know where he came from.

 _Oh, Cloud_. He admonishes me, but he still sounds so damn amused.

            “What do you want?” I’m crazy… for talking to this shadow, this image from my sleepless mind.

            _Nothing. Well, not much._

And then he’s over me, one ghostly knee on my bed; his right hand is near my waist. His long, silver hair drapes over me. It’s not real, but I can feel the chill from each strand. I don’t want to, but I shudder. And he smiles at me.

            _You want to get rid of me._

            “That’s nothing new.”

 _No_ , he agrees, shaking his head slowly. His long lashes briefly touch his cheeks when his eyes close. _But it’s different tonight._

            I hesitate. “What do you mean?”

 _I’ve missed you, Cloud_ —he cups my chin— _and I miss you thinking of me_.

            “You don’t have to sound so smug.”

But when didn’t he? My head is tilted up slightly, and I’m staring up at him. Not through him, _at_ him, and that bothers me. He leans forward, and I move back. But not away from him, just back down onto my bed.

            _It’s been seven years, Cloud._

            “Not long enough,” I reply, feeling that chill again slowly inch down my sides and towards…

            “What are you doing?” I ask, brows furrowing tightly.

 _Getting reacquainted,_ he says so… nonchalantly.

            “Do it somewhere else.”

And he stares at me. Again. Right into my eyes, and he smiles again. This time, it’s thoughtful, and I want to know what he’s thinking—only to get out of it, away from him and whatever he’s doing. Or wants to do. And then my eyes close. The chill stabs through me, and I groan in discomfort. I can’t be too loud, but it hurts and it’s strange all at once. I can’t explain it. I can’t…

It feels like he’s framing my brain, kissing at my frontal lobe while he slowly pries my head open. I can’t think; I feel heady. The world is spinning. Is the bed still under me? I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m disorientated. What is he…?

            “Seph…”

            _Are you going to call my name?_ he asks, his voice echoing.

I press my lips together, and he chuckles. Even with my eyes closed, I can see him again.

My room is light brightly by the moonlight, and I can’t see any doors. It’s just me, him, and my bed. No, I can clearly see that there’s no roof, and the moon is shining in the night sky. What is he doing? Sephiroth’s forehead is touching mine, his fingers laced through my hair. And he’s _still_ smiling.

            _Isn’t this better?_

            ‘Just get it over with.’

My lips aren’t moving. My right hand is on my stomach, I can feel it, but my left feels solid at my side. Sephiroth doesn’t move.

            _Let’s have one last night_.

            ‘Like you’ll ever leave me alone.’

 _Hm. How should I say this then? … Let’s have one last night of imposed privacy, distant and away from each other. Tonight, you’ll be begging for me_.

            ‘… I don’t beg. No deal.’

A chuckle. _We’ll see…_

And his lips ghost over mine. He feels solid, like he’s actually there. And I want to resist him, honestly, but… I just don’t. His fingers aren’t tight in my hair; he’s not giving me any pain. It’s so… unlike him. He’s not even playing any of his usual verbal mind games. So why? Why can’t I resist?

I reach up with my left hand and grip tightly at his right arm. His hair gets caught in my fingers, and suddenly, he’s kissing me. Hard, breathless. I think to let him go, but I can’t help but try to one up him. I just… get aggressive when he’s around. Hostile, suspicious—is this the proper way to take it out on him for implanting these feelings into me.

Maybe. I’m so tired; I don’t know what to think. Maybe that’s it. I just… have to keep telling myself that. My fatigue isn’t helping me think straight.

He licks my lips, and I bit his lower lip. He groans softly against my mouth before he claims my lips again. I feel the soft grazing of nails against my hip bones, and my hand is still in his hair. I don’t know if I’m not letting go because I’m stubborn… or because he enjoys it. I gasp softly against his lips as my stomach drops. Something wraps gently against my base, and I think to say something. Use my words to warn him or my hand to push him away, but.  _But_.

Instead, he pulls away and looks down at me. I open up my eyes and gaze up at him. He’s not smiling anymore (finally), but something seems off. He turns his head slightly, looking over his shoulder down towards me. And I become painfully aware of whose hand is on me.

It’s mine.

            _I didn’t know you’d get so excited,_ he teases without smiling.

            ‘You. I.’

_I want to see more. It’s been so long, right, since we were like this._

            ‘Go to hell,’ I ‘say’ but a moan stops dead in my throat.

My eyes close briefly before I squint back up at him. One of his hands has moved, and it’s lowered on top of my own. I roll onto my side away from him, not giving him the benefit of watching. But he leans over me, and his left hand gently scratches my scalp. His and my right hand move in unison.

He kisses the shell of my ear, whispering my name into my ear. I shudder, letting out a soft moan as I squeeze against my base. I’m not hard, but I’m getting there. And I think that’s the worst part. Being influenced by this _monster_ to enjoy myself in his company. I can’t say I’m being forced, but he’s… definitely doing something. I just can’t figure what. It’s too much for my muddled mind to keep up with. He nibbles and bites on my ear lobe. If only it were the pierced one, maybe then he would be discouraged.

Another soft noise leaves me as our hands start to build momentum before it steadily slows down. I don’t like that I’m enjoying this, enjoying his help if it’s the reason for it.

            He sighs softly against my skin before asking, _What are you thinking about?_

You, I want to say. How much I despise you—want you gone. Want you bruised and defeated. You’ll never ask for forgiveness; you’ll smile even with a bloodied face, but I want to beat it out of you. Your surrender, your absence. I just…

I can’t get the image out of my face. I’ve always been so heated when he’s mentioned, even if it’s subtle, but I want his smug, critical expression beaten off of his face. Is it surprising that I can have violent tendencies? No, I think the real thing is that I’m enjoying this. Enjoying seeing him bruised and defeated at my hand. The mighty Sephiroth gone and dismissed only by my victory. Has my hatred, my disdain evolved into this? The darkest form of lusting I’ve ever witnessed.

 

Goddammit….

 

Ah, but it’s something else. I feel hot, even with his icy touch, his cold presence. And he’s watching me, not my hand but my face. He’s watching every expression even as I think about his loss and defeat. He has an attractive face, but to bruise it is worth more than any trophy.

Is this really me? What’s lurking inside of me? I don’t remember having this, but seven years is a long break from anything…

And he turns my head and kisses me deeply, passionately, as though he’s trying to prove something. Is he in my head? Is he trying to dominate over the visions I’m seeing? Well, too bad, because I _like_ them more than anything else I would say.

… in this sleepy state.

Our tongues mingle and roll together, my hips rocking into every stroking, and before I know it, he pulls away and whispers to me:

            _Cloud_.

I lose it. I come undone so suddenly, I don’t have time to utter a reply. I shudder out small noises; I feel the sheets tighten some distance from me. I must have grabbed them. I’m not entirely sure. When I open my eyes again, my room is that comforting blue-black. The roof is overhanging, and it all seems… normal.

Except the evidence of my recent immersive dreaming.

I feel rested, slightly, but I’m still not quite sure what happened. I look over my shoulder towards the corner where _he_ was, but I don’t see anything. I look away and then sigh before I finally stand and clean up. When I crash back onto the bed, I feel myself instantly pulled into the intangible separation of my mind and my body. Almost in an instant, I fall back asleep.

 

But I thought I heard a voice, once that said _I’ll be waiting_ , but I’m too tired to wake up and figure it out.


End file.
